A Very Biggles Valentine
by KatieAnn86
Summary: Biggles visits Marie after the end of "Biggles Looks Back" to help get her settled in her new cottage.


**A Valentine's Day Story**

**A couple of months after "Biggles Looks Back"…**

Early one Friday afternoon, Biggles hummed softly to himself as he tossed a spare shirt and his pajamas into a light valise. He then went into the bathroom and began putting together his toiletries and shaving kit.

"Picking dear old Erich up on the way?" Algy asked casually from the hall, a cigarette trailing from his fingers.

"Ah… no. Not this time. Fritz is playing the violin at some German Embassy function and Erich is going to that in the hopes of running into some old friends. He gets a bit lonely these days, I think."

Algy's usual expression of amused surprise went up a notch.

"Oh come now," Biggles said, looking up from the bathroom sink with a mildly perturbed expression. "Don't be ridiculous. We don't need a chaperone, and we're far too old to go pawing at each other like some love-struck teenagers."

"Speak for yourself, chum," Algy said, grinning. Biggles rolled his eyes and turned away to add his toothbrush to the bag.

Algy laughed and headed to the sitting room. Ginger, from his seat by the fire, threw a puzzled glance at Algy, who winked broadly and said "Marie's purchased a couple of paintings she wants hung in her new cottage. She's asked him down to Hampshire for the weekend to give her a hand."

Ginger's eyebrows went up. "She took care of herself for forty-odd years. She should be perfectly capable of … _oh_." He went scarlet as realization dawned on him. Algy laughed at the expression on his face.

Biggles walked from the bathroom through to the sitting room and took his coat from the peg by the door. With a wink at Ginger, he said "It's a deplorable thing that a fellow can't have a platonic friendship without these lousy insinuations."

"_I know_! That's what I said."

"As I recall, we didn't believe _you_ either, old boy," Bertie said with a grin. Ginger blushed an even deeper shade of crimson, if that were possible.

"You chaps certain you'll be all right?" Biggles asked as he shrugged into his coat.

"Of course," Algy said, folding himself casually into his customary chair and putting his feet up. "You've been working too much anyway. Go have a nice weekend in the country and we'll see you in a few days."

"You have the number in case something comes up?"

"_Nothing's_ going to happen, Biggles. Relax and have fun reminiscing about the 'good old days'. We can take care of ourselves for _two days._"

The corners of Biggles' mouth turned up as he buttoned his coat and put on his hat. "Right. Cheerio."

As the door swung shut behind him, Algy, Bertie, and Ginger exchanged amused glances.

"What are we going to do now?" Ginger asked. He always thought it was rather boring whenever Biggles was gone for the weekend.

Algy answered with a mischievous twinkle in his eye "For starters, we're going out tonight – and when we come home we're _not_ going to worry about tiptoeing down the hall. Then we're going to sleep in in the morning as long as we damn well please."

A slow grin spread across Ginger's face. The weekend was looking up.

**** The Next Morning ****

Somewhere in the foggy recesses of his brain, Ginger became dimly aware that the phone was ringing. He tried to sit up and regretted it instantly as the room spun. _Why had he thought staying out until the wee hours would be a good idea again?_ However much he might pretend otherwise, he really wasn't twenty-five any longer.

The phone repeated its insistent summons, so he took a deep breath and hauled himself out of bed, propelling himself along the corridor with the help of the wall.

"Hullo?"

"Good morning, Hebblethwaite," came Raymond's voice over the line.

The man sounded positively _cheerful_, Ginger thought murderously. There was no way this could go well. He rubbed his hands briskly over his face to try to restore some circulation, pressing on a throbbing point in his left temple.

"Morning, sir," he responded as perkily as he was able, which wasn't much.

"Is Bigglesworth about?"

"Uh… no," Ginger replied warily. "He's gone … away… for the weekend to … _erm_.. see an old friend."

"I see. Where's Lacey?"

Ginger hesitated. When Ginger had left the club, Algy had been preoccupied with renewing an acquaintance with a BOAC air hostess he'd known some years previously, and had told him not to wait up. Ginger glanced at Algy's bedroom door, which stood resolutely closed. Prior experience had taught Ginger that it was best to leave it that way until Algy emerged on his own.

"He's still in bed, sir," Ginger said rather hesitantly.

He felt, rather than heard, the _harrumph_ on the other end of the telephone line and winced in anticipation of the conversation they'd be having with Biggles once he heard about it.

"Get him up," Raymond said, his pleasant demeanor gone. "_Now_."

"Yes, sir," Ginger replied meekly, setting the phone down on the hall table carefully. He tapped lightly on Algy's door and called his name.

"Go away."

"I can't, Algy. It's Raymond on the phone. He wants you."

It would not do to put Algy's reply in print, but after a moment the door was opened a crack and Algy scooted through the opening, shutting it smartly behind him. He glared at Ginger, his hair askew.

"It's not _my_ fault," Ginger muttered crossly, shuffling into the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

Bertie emerged from his own room and joined Ginger in the kitchen a short while later.

"What's going on?" he asked quietly, smearing some marmalade on a slice of toast.

"Raymond's on the phone," Ginger mumbled around a mouthful of toast.

"Yes, I can tell that much by the jolly old scowl on Algy's face. The more important question is _why_?"

"I don't know. He wanted Biggles, but I told him he was away for the weekend, so then he asked to speak to Algy."

Bertie shrugged. "We'll know soon enough," he murmured philosophically, and poured himself a cup of tea.

At last the click of the phone being replaced in its cradle signaled the end of their conversation and Algy folded his lanky frame into a chair at the breakfast table.

"Well?" Ginger asked, pushing the teapot toward Algy.

"Well what?" he asked blandly, grabbing a piece of toast.

"What did the jolly old chief want?" Bertie asked impatiently.

Algy took a deep breath before answering. "As soon as we're done eating breakfast, we're heading to Gatwick, picking up the plane, and flying to Paris. There's been a jewel theft. I'll give you the details in the car."

"Are we calling Biggles to let him know?"

Algy grimaced. "We probably should, but knowing him, he'd want to come right back and join us… and he needs a weekend off."

"So do we," grumbled Ginger under his breath.

Algy ignored him and as he rose from the table he said "Get dressed. Hop to it."

"You know, old boy," Bertie began seriously a minute or two later when they finished pulling on their clothes and reconvened in the kitchen. "We really should ring Biggles and just let him know. He'd be furious if we went off on a jaunt like this without so much as telling him what's in the wind."

Algy drained his teacup and as he put it into the sink, he said "You two go and bring the car around. I'll join you after a minute. I'll ring Biggles and put him wise, and then I have… something I need to take care of."

Ginger smirked at him. "You're not fooling anyone, you know."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Algy replied primly, straight faced. Ginger and Bertie muffled their guffaws as they shrugged into their coats and grabbed their hats from the rack.

"Give her my love and all that rot," was Bertie's parting shot as they went out. Algy looked around for something to throw at him, but by then the door was closed.

**Meanwhile, at Marie's cottage…**

Friday afternoon and evening had flown by in a flurry of paint color discussions, furniture decisions, and general handyman-ness. This household-y business was more work than he'd thought, Biggles reflected with a tired sigh, regarding the remaining wine in his glass contemplatively. Marie was a better cook than he might've supposed and now, replete from a delicious meal, they sat companionably on her sofa, listening to the evening news.

"This reminds me of another evening, in another lifetime," she said, turning to face him with a soft smile.

"The bench in the orchard?" he asked, the corners of his mouth turning up at the memory.

"I was rather thinking of slightly after that," came the somewhat surprising reply.

Biggles raised a questioning eyebrow. She smiled and switched off the news broadcast. He set down his wine glass.

The next morning he awoke to the smell of bacon frying. It took him a moment to remember where he was, but then the memories of the previous evening returned in a rush. He fumbled with the bedclothes for a minute and wrestled into his trousers. He pulled on his shirt and headed downstairs.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"You looked so peaceful," she smiled at him, handing him a plate of bacon and eggs. Somewhat bemused at the unusual occurrence of being the last one to the breakfast table, he tucked into his food without another word. _Maybe Algy was right about this sleeping-in business_, he thought, his brain in a pleasant hazy fog.

Then the telephone rang, its harsh jangle cutting into his decidedly unusual morning and bringing him back to reality. Marie answered, as was only proper considering it was her house.

"Good morning, Algy. Yes, he's here. Hold on."

Biggles frowned. He knew Algy wouldn't be ringing just to pass the time, and it was unusually early for him to be on the move on his day off.

"What's wrong?" he asked without preamble.

"Raymond rang about a jewel theft. Says the thieves have known connections with the Paris underground and there's a club pilot who's been under suspicion of running their stolen goods over to the continent. He's been under surveillance for the past fortnight and was just seen this morning leaving London heading to the airfield. Bertie and Ginger have gone to bring the car around and we're leaving for Gatwick in a couple of minutes. There's no need for you to do anything – I just wanted to put you wise."

"Do you want me to meet you there? If I leave now I can…"

"No need, but if you could ring Marcel and let him know to watch things from his end, it would save us some time."

Biggles nodded briskly. "I'll do that."

"Thanks, old boy." With that, Algy hung up the phone.

Biggles rang Marcel and spoke quickly to him, relaying the message, Marie's curious eyes on him the whole time. He hung up the phone and sat thoughtfully for a few minutes, his fingers drumming on the tabletop. After a moment, he turned to her.

"If I leave now, I can catch them at Gatwick."

"But I thought I heard Algy say…"

"I know, but I should be with them. If anything happens to them…"

"Algy can handle it."

"I'm still responsible," he said. He chewed on his lip. "It's hard to explain."

"But…"

"I'm sorry," he said, rising from the table. "Let me just grab my things."

Marie wrinkled her nose and sat down heavily at the table as he hurried upstairs, her emotions warring between annoyance, disappointment, and hurt. A clatter on the steps announced his return a few moments later.

"You don't have to leave, you know. The others can handle it." She looked at him seriously, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Biggles looked uncomfortable. "I must go."

"Duty calls?" she asked, only slightly reproachfully.

He met her eyes. "Yes."

"It always did, didn't it?" she asked softly.

He remembered what Von Stahlein had said about serving two mistresses and he gave her a somewhat rueful smile and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck self-consciously. "I'm sorry," he said again.

She smiled a trifle sadly. "You'd better go now if you want to catch them at Gatwick."

"I'll come back just as soon as I can. I promise."

She reached out and took both of his hands in hers for a moment. There were a lot of things she wanted to say in that moment, but she settled on simply "Be safe."

Biggles smiled and squeezed her hands. He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. "I'll do my best."

And with that, he was gone. With mixed emotions, she watched his car from the window until he turned the corner at the top of the street.

Ginger looked up from his pre-flight check. "Look who couldn't keep away," he muttered, nudging Bertie in the ribs. Bertie looked up to see a Bentley pull in to the car park and a familiar figure alight.

"I knew it," muttered Algy, under his breath.

"What ho, old warrior," Bertie called cheerfully.

"Got room for one more?" Biggles asked, pulling on his flying cap and climbing aboard.

Algy grinned. "There's always room for you. Did you get tired of playing house already?"

Biggles looked amused. "Not exactly. But I couldn't let you lot go off to Paris and have all the fun without me."

"Fun! _Fun_, he says. Hark at him," Algy complained with a laugh. "If I'd have known you were coming, I'd have let you have all the 'fun' and I would've stayed in bed."

Ginger snorted rudely from somewhere behind them. He opened his mouth with a smart-aleck retort, thought better of it, and closed it again with a snap. Biggles did not miss this little exchange and looked back and forth between Algy and Ginger for a moment. He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Do I want to know what you got up to whilst I was away?"

"Nope," Algy grinned. "Are we leaving or not?"

Biggles rolled his eyes at his cousin and best friend for the second time in two days.

A short while later, they were airborne and the French coast was coming up on the horizon. Algy had briefed Biggles on the way with what little information they had from Raymond.

Bertie's voice came from the back. "I can see a yellow two-seater, cruising at about 6,000 feet."

"Pass me the binoculars Ginger," Biggles ordered, giving control of the aircraft to Algy. He read the registration letters aloud.

"That's him," confirmed Ginger after a glance at his notes.

Algy altered course slightly to follow him, while keeping in the eye of the sun.

"See if you can get Marcel on the radio," Biggles said to Ginger without turning his head, keeping the binoculars trained on their quarry.

Ginger busied himself with the instrument for a moment. He confirmed he had Marcel on the line and gave him their coordinates and the flight path of the yellow plane.

Before too much longer, the yellow plane began its descent. Biggles looked around for likely fields and he saw the plane making for a large meadow. Ginger relayed all this information over the radio.

"Marcel says he's got the local gendarmes on the scene," Ginger said. The yellow plane bumped over the rough ground a few times before coming to a standstill. Algy circled, and within moments they saw the flashing lights of a patrol car and a number of police swarming over the hedge and around the aircraft.

There was a great deal of activity on the ground, and the observers in the Air Police aircraft saw a man try to escape the cordon, only to be brought down by police dog right at the boundary of the field. A few moments passed, as Algy continued to circle.

"Do you want me to land?"

"I don't think so," Biggles replied. "There's no sense risking a landing in an unfamiliar meadow without cause. It looks like the French have got this under control. We'll check in with Marcel in a bit to confirm."

"_Someone might think you were in a hurry to get back_," Algy thought, though wisely he did not voice this aloud.

After a brief delay, Ginger spoke up from behind them.

"Marcel confirms the pilot and passenger are under arrest. They had the stolen goods on them, so it was pretty straightforward. He'll be in touch on Monday to settle the paperwork."

"Good enough for me," said Algy and, after a confirming nod from Biggles, he swung their machine away to the north.

Presently they landed back at Gatwick and completed the usual formalities in the small operations office in the Air Police hangar. Biggles sat back with a small satisfied sigh as he filled in the last of the forms and signed it with a flourish.

"There, that's done," he said, rising and pocketing his cigarettes. He reached for his hat.

"Don't you want to get a spot of tea before you go?" Algy asked, his eyes twinkling rather wickedly.

"Cards or darts in the clubhouse perhaps?" Ginger suggested brightly.

"_No_," said Biggles rather pointedly. They all laughed.

"And they all lived happily ever after?" Bertie asked.

"That's the way these things are supposed to end, isn't it?" Ginger said naively.

"Works for me," Biggles responded flippantly as he put on his hat and headed outside. "See you Sunday night," he called over his shoulder. "Don't wait up."

**The End.**


End file.
